One Step Over the Border by Stephen Bly Page A

to the dirt. “We were a little confused in the dark.”
    “Get off the horses,” the man in the suit commanded.
    Laramie dug his boots deeper into the stirrups. “I don’t believe that would be a smart move.”
    “We can shoot you off,” the man barked.
    “Yes, sir. But, as we see it, we ain’t committed a crime,” Hap said.
    “You were stealing my cattle.”
    “Is this property still your ranch?” Laramie asked.
    “Yes, of course.”
    “Then we haven’t stole anything. The cattle are still on your property.”
    “We were just cuttin’ across your place to get back to Texas,” Hap explained. “And this bunch of cows jumped up and trotted
     in front of us. I’m sure they would have turned back at the river and we would be on our way home. We didn’t see any
No Trespassing
signs.”
    “That’s absurd. No one would believe that,” the man said.
    “You better hope no one believes it,” Laramie said. “You’ve got six men here to watch you kill us. You’ll have to keep them
     happy and quiet the rest of their lives. We don’t show up at our regular place tomorrow, a search will begin. Folks know we’re
     over here to gather strays. So the police, maybe the FBI, will start poking around. The twenty-four-hour news station will
     set up camp and make a circus out of it. One day, one of your vaqueros might get peeved with the meager pay you give him.
     At that point they will extort you or you’ll have to shoot them all.”
    “They wouldn’t do that.”
    “Did you ever see the kind of cash those cable channels offer for an exclusive story?” Hap said.
    “In that case, we’ll turn you over to the policia.”
    “Say, do any of you know Mr. E. A. Greene?” Laramie said. “He can explain this better than we can.”
    “
¿Trabajan para el
Señor Greene?” a stocky, hatless man in the shadows grumbled.
    “Yep,” Hap replied. “He hired us to gather up his strays.”
    The suited man raised his gun, “Shoot them both. Emmett Greene is a crook.”
    Hap kept his hands raised. “He owns Hidalgo County Land and Cattle.”
    “He doesn’t own an inch of ground on either side of the Rio Grande.”
    “But we were followin’ his big herd, pickin’ up the stragglers,” Hap said.
    “Those belong to the Hidalgo County Land and Cattle. But that’s owned by Miller and Robles. They have spreads on both sides
     of the river. Greene steals strays before they have a chance to comb the brush. He loads them up and hauls them straight to
     a back-street slaughterhouse on Sixteenth Street in San Antonio.”
    “Seems like you know a lot of details about him,” Laramie remarked.
    “Two of my men worked for Greene. They got arrested and spent time in jail, but Greene escaped prosecution. He always has
     an alibi. He hires cowboys to do his stealing, but heads for some public location during the actual crime. If you get caught,
     he doesn’t have to pay you. Now, get down,” the suited man commanded again, “We’re taking you to jail.”
    Laramie kicked at the man’s hand when he reached for his boot. “No, sir, I told you, we’re not getting off our horses.”
    “May the saints have mercy on your mortal souls,” the man shouted. “If you don’t get down right now, I will shoot you for
     resisting arrest.”
    Laramie locked his knees against his horse’s flank.
    Hap backed his horse toward Laramie. “So much for the ‘band of brothers’ during the war. I wish I had listened to you, partner.”
    “
Un momento
…” the stocky, hatless man called out. “
Mira eso
.” He pointed at the left, rear hoof of Hap’s horse.
“Tiene una bota de caucho. Son las mismas huellas que habian en la barranca, cerca del relicario de mi sobrina.”
    “What did he say?” Hap asked.
    “He said you have one rubber boot like the tracks near his niece’s shrine in the barranca.”
    “Little Miranda Estrada?” Hap said.
    The stocky man with long-sleeved white shirt buttoned at the collar stepped up to